Miller laughed. “I guess Pole isn't the best pay in the world, is he?” “Father never weighs or keeps account of anything he gets,” said Alan. “They both make a guess at it, when cotton is sold. Father calls it 'lumping' the thing, and usually Pole gets the lump. But he's all right, and I wish we could do more for him. Father was really thinking about helping him in some substantial way when the crash came--” “Thar!” broke in Daniel, with a gurgling laugh, “I've won my bet. I bet to myse'f jest now that ten minutes wouldn't pass 'fore Craig an' his bu'st-up would be mentioned.” “We have been at it, off and on, all day,” said Miller, with a low laugh. “The truth is, it makes me madder than anything I ever encountered.” “Do you know why?” asked Abner, seriously, just as Pole Baker came through the dining-room and leaned against the door-jamb facing them. “It's beca'se”--nodding a greeting to Pole along with the others--“it's beca'se you know in reason that he's got that money.” “Oh, I wouldn't say _that_,” protested Miller, in the tone of a man of broad experience in worldly affairs. “I wouldn't say that.” “Well, I would, an' do,” said Abner, in the full tone of decision. “I _know_ he's got it!” “Well, yo' re wrong thar, Uncle Ab,” said Pole, striding forward and sinking into a chair. “You've got as good jedgment as any man I ever run across. I thought like you do once. I'd 'a' tuck my oath that he had it about two hours by sun this evenin', but I kin swear he hain't a cent of it now.” “Do you mean that, Pole?” Abner stared across the wide hearth at him fixedly. “He hain't got it, Uncle Ab.” Pole was beginning to smile mysteriously. “He _did_ have it, but he hain't got it now. I got it from 'im, blast his ugly pictur'!” “_You_ got it?” gasped Daniel. “_You?_” “Yes. I made up my mind he had it, an' it deviled me so much that I determined to have it by hook or crook, ef it killed me, or put me in hock the rest o' my life.” Pole rose and took a packet wrapped in brown paper from under his rough coat and laid it on the table near Alan. “God bless you, old boy,” he said, “thar's yore money! It's all thar. I counted it. It's in fifties an' hundreds.” Breathlessly, and with expanded eyes, Alan broke the string about the packet and opened it. “Great God!” he muttered. Miller sprang up and looked at the stack of bills, but said nothing. Abner, leaning forward, uttered a little, low laugh. “You--you didn't kill 'im, did you, Pole, old boy--you didn't, did you?” he asked. “Didn't harm a hair of his head,” said Pole. “All I wanted was Alan' s money, an' thar it is!” “Well,” grunted Daniel, “I'm glad you spared his life. And I thank God you got the money.” Miller was now hurriedly running over the bills. “You say you counted it, Baker?” he said, pale with pleased excitement. “Three times; fust when it was turned over to me, an' twice on the way out heer from town.”